Page 1 of The Minotaur’s Maze (Bathhouse Beasts #3)

T he virtual meeting had been dragging on for nearly two hours and we were no closer to a conclusion.

My boss, the CEO of Pomcast, a national internet provider, was demanding every department cut costs.

The iron wasn’t lost on me though since he was joining our meeting from his bungalow in Hawaii that the company had purchased as a “ research and development" expense.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the familiar ache that had become my constant companion over the past few months.

Through the pixelated video feed, I could see palm trees swaying in the background behind his perfectly tanned face.

Meanwhile, I was sitting in a fluorescent-lit conference room that smelled like stale coffee and desperation.

"Julian, are you even listening?" His voice cut through my mental fog. "I need those service response times down to under two minutes average, and I want it done with fifteen percent fewer staff."

I bit back the sarcastic response that threatened to spill out.

My team was already pulling twelve-hour shifts, surviving on energy drinks and sheer willpower.

We'd lost three good technicians last month alone.

They were burned out, fed up, and moved on to companies that actually gave a damn about their employees.

"With all due respect, sir, we're already operating with minimal staff. Any further cuts and we'll start seeing service quality?—"

"I don't want to hear about problems, Julian. I want solutions." He leaned back in what looked like a ridiculously expensive beach chair. "Figure it out, or I'll find someone who can."

The threat hung in the digital air between us like a blade. I stared at his smug expression, my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.

“I have a solution,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I suggest we overhaul the website then and put more emphasis on self-service. Right now the system isn’t user friendly and our call times become longer when we have to explain why it’s so difficult to use.”

He scoffed, taking a sip from what looked suspiciously like a pina colada. "That's your big idea? Redesign the website? Do you have any idea what that would cost?"

I fought to keep my expression neutral despite the burning in my chest. "Less than the turnover rate we're experiencing. The training costs alone for new hires?—"

"Julian," he interrupted, his voice dripping with condescension, "this isn't a negotiation. I need those numbers down by the end of the quarter. Find some employees who want to work or I’ll find your replacement."

The headache that had been brewing behind my eyes intensified. I glanced at the other faces in the conference room, my fellow department heads all looked equally defeated. None of them would speak up. They were all protecting their own teams, their own jobs.

"I understand, sir," I finally said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'll make it happen."

"Excellent. That's what I like to hear." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have an important meeting at the country club.”

The call ended abruptly, his image disappearing from the screen. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning and someone's frustrated sigh.

"Well, that was productive," muttered Diane from Marketing, gathering her papers.

I remained seated as everyone filed out, staring at the blank screen. How the hell was I supposed to cut fifteen percent of my already skeletal staff without completely tanking our service metrics? The impossible math problem tumbled through my mind as I gathered my laptop.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Marcus, my best technician.

"Hey boss, Rodriguez just quit. Walked out mid-call. Customers in the queue are stacking up."

I closed my eyes, counting slowly to ten. When I opened them, nothing had changed. The fluorescent lights still buzzed overhead. The impossible demands still loomed. And now I was down another tech.

"Fuck," I whispered to the now empty room, the word inadequate to express the weight crushing down on me.

I grabbed my laptop and trudged back to my office, already dreading what awaited me.

The service floor was in chaos when I arrived, phones ringing off the hook, techs frantically typing, and the queue display showing numbers that made my stomach drop.

Sixty-seven customers waiting. And the average hold time was twenty-three minutes.

The CEO would have an aneurysm if he saw this.

Then again, maybe that would be preferable.

Marcus intercepted me before I could reach my office. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and his usually neat dreads were disheveled. "Rodriguez just snapped. Customer called him an idiot for the third time, and he said, ' Fix your own damn router then ,' and walked out."

"Great. Just fucking great." I ran a hand through my hair. "Who's covering his queue?"

"Split between me and Jenna, but we're drowning here, Julian."

I nodded, setting my laptop down on the nearest desk. "I'll jump on too. Get me logged in."

For the next four hours, I fielded calls alongside my team, talking elderly customers through router resets, explaining to irate businessmen why their service outage wasn't a personal attack, and apologizing for wait times while my headache bloomed into a full-blown migraine.

By seven, we'd managed to clear the backlog. I sent the evening shift home and sat alone in my darkened office, staring at spreadsheets that refused to add up to what the CEO wanted.

The building had gone quiet around me, just the distant hum of servers and the occasional creak of settling infrastructure. I should have gone home hours ago, but the thought of my empty apartment felt even more depressing than staying here surrounded by the wreckage of another impossible day.

I pulled up the staffing reports again, running through scenarios that all led to the same conclusion. I was screwed. Cut fifteen percent and we'd collapse under the call volume. Keep everyone and face the CEO's wrath come quarterly review. Either way, good people would suffer.

My reflection stared back at me from the dark window. I was hollow-eyed, stubble-faced, and looking older than my thirty-two years. When did I become this person? When had I stopped fighting and started just surviving?

Maybe it was time for a break, something to take my mind off of work completely for a few hours. And there was only one place where I could do that, where I could let go and just be myself for a little while without a care in the world.

The bathhouse.

The thought hit me like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. I hadn't been to the bathhouse in weeks, hell, maybe a couple of months. Work had consumed everything, but tonight I needed something more than the numbing routine of spreadsheets and impossible quotas.

I shut down my laptop with more force than necessary and grabbed my keys. The parking garage was nearly empty, just a few cars belonging to the overnight IT crew. My Honda looked as tired as I felt under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

The drive through downtown took twenty minutes, giving me time to decompress from the corporate hellscape I'd just escaped.

The bathhouse sat tucked between office buildings, its entrance marked only by a discrete brass nameplate.

To most people walking by, it looked like any other renovated warehouse.

They had no idea what lay beyond those heavy metal doors.

I parked in the small lot behind the building and sat for a moment, letting the engine tick as it cooled.

Through the windshield, I could see warm light spilling from the frosted windows on the second floor.

My pulse quickened slightly, not from anxiety, but from anticipation.

Here, I could shed the weight of being Julian the department manager, Julian the problem-solver, Julian the guy slowly drowning in corporate bullshit.

The cool night air felt good against my skin as I walked to the front entrance. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped into the softly lit reception area.

"Membership card." The voice belonged to a silver-haired man who'd been running the front desk for as long as I’d been coming around.

He was usually too busy reading to pay much attention to the clients coming through, but that was just fine.

It kept things anonymous, which was just the way I liked it.

I fumbled with my wallet, pulling out the membership card I'd tucked behind my credit cards. It was slightly bent at the corners, a testament to how long it had been since I'd last visited.

"Been a while," the attendant commented, not looking up from his book as he scanned my card and checked me in. He handed it back with a locker key on a wristband. "Number sixty-seven. Everything must be left in the locker room including all electronic devices."

"Thanks," I muttered, pocketing both items and heading through the inner door.

The familiar scent hit me immediately, chlorine, eucalyptus, and an undercurrent of sex.

My shoulders relaxed for what felt like the first time in months.

The locker room was nearly empty tonight, just a few guys changing, their eyes flicking over me with casual interest before returning to their own business.

It was a Tuesday, so I wasn’t expecting the place to be filled to the brim like it was on the weekends.

But I’d at least be able to relax and get off. That’s what was important.

I undressed methodically, folding my button-down shirt that still reeked of office stress and tucking it into locker sixty-seven along with my slacks, shoes, and the rest of my corporate persona.

The thin white towel they provided barely covered my cock, but that was the point.

Nudity leveled the playing field. And this was a place of pleasure, not a place for shame or shyness.